An embellished memoir, in short spurts.

A Night at the Psych Ward

So my fiancé (now Mr. Porter) and I had to attend the pre-cana classes and get our certificate before we got married.

I should mention here that I was off my regular anti-depressant medication. I was not on any medication, as the new guru doctor that I was seeing took me off my old meds cold-turkey style, and was going to put me on some new-fangled “patch” anti-depressant as soon as the mandatory time had elapsed and the old meds were cleared out of my system.

So basically I was out in public without any meds. OIPWAM? oyp-wam! Sounds about right.

Mr. Pre-Cana Teacher was one of those “people who are depressed just need to stop feeling sorry for themselves” kind of dudes. So I sat there, biting my lips, my tongue, the inside of my cheek, my fingers, at one point paper and pen, to keep myself from talking back. I loved Mr. Porter very much and wanted to marry him, and the hoop we had to jump involved “passing” this class and getting a certificate.

On lunch break, Mr. Porter drove me to go buy some Advil, as the headache (from trying to keep my brain from exploding) was registering a 10 on the Richter scale. At about this point, my body decided it was a good idea to jump out of the car. I tried, but Mr. Porter was able to stop the car in time, and hug me until I was semi-conscious again.

We did get our certificate that day.

The next day, we went to my doctor, Mr. MD. 🙂 He suggested that I go to the local city Psych Hospital, tell them my story, and sign myself in.

We got there about 6 pm or so. Mr. Porter came in with me and got me registered. No one informed him that at 8 pm, the doors were locked and no one could leave, including Mr. Porter, who is one of the sanest humans currently walking planet earth. He was imprisoned with the rest of us. No one told him that once the door was locked, there was no escape until daylight, not even for non-patients.

We sat in the main lobby, which was almost like a living room, except there was no TV, so we watched each other. Jill, a thin blonde, asked every five minutes if they would check her vital signs—I guess she needed verification that she was still alive. There was a guy named Bill who was drying out from a drunk.

The star of the show was Robin. She had been brought in by the police in handcuffs for fighting with her mother and threatening to kill herself. She wanted to leave immediately. She called a cab, and when it showed up at the front door, screamed for the Hospital Administration to let her out. They wouldn’t. She banged on the bullet-proof glass window and swore at them. “Let me out!” They told her no. She paced the room for a few minutes, then dialed the phone again. In a disguised voice she said, “This is Mary from the HELP team. I met with Robin before she came to see you, and she’s good to go. She isn’t going to hurt anyone, or herself. She’s good to go.”

Mr. Porter and I giggled to ourselves. What the heck is she trying to get away with?

Then a Psych Worker came out of his office. “Robin, I just spoke to Mary at the HELP team. She said you can leave.”

What?

So Mr. Psych Worker buzzed the door open and Robin left. Yikes, they really fell for it. This woman is a professional.

Robin was free as a bird. (Sorry, couldn’t resist.)

Mr. Porter and I stepped into the room with a vending machine for a quick snack. Another tenant at the ward, Michelle, came in and started chatting it up. I was not in the mood, so I left the room. Meanwhile Mr. Porter bought her a bag of Skittles out of the vending machine. She announced, “There is a party in my mouth. I never forget a kindness.” Mr. Porter quickly left the room, fearing he would be falsely accused of something.

Back in the living room, Jill asked again if she could have her vital signs checked.

Finally about 1 am, a Psych Worker asked if we would like a room to get some sleep. Now there’s an idea. So they set us up with 2 cots in a room, and we slept through until morning. Let me state the obvious here: Not many men would spend the night with a woman in a psych ward—and then marry her anyway. Yes, Mr. Porter is a Prince.

Morning came, I was released. Oh yes, they let Mr. Porter out also. Bill was still drying out. Michelle was enjoying the party in her mouth.

Jill was still there, waiting for someone to tell her she was still alive.

yes, some people say “my word is my bond”
Jack Bauer (24) just says “You have my word.” that’s all he needs to say 😉
I don’t know if you get 24 in the UK but there are rumors that its coming back to TV.

Wow, what a great story! I have so much to say. As a former pastor angry at clergy who just don’t “get” it. As a former psych patient who would have loved to have my wife with me in the ward. As a current writer eager to build a bridge between faith and mental illness. Great stuff.